He stands where the echoes of battle roar,
On fields of sweat, on tracks once sore.
Not just for glory, nor wealth, nor fame,
But for the fire that fuels the game.

Through dawn-lit drills and endless night,
He sharpens will, he learns to fight.
Each loss a lesson, each win a spark,
He carves his name in triumph’s arc.

Not just his strength, nor speed alone,
But heart and grit have paved his throne.
Through fractured bones and weary sighs,
Still, he dares—he never cries.

A sportsman falls, a sportsman bleeds,
Yet never yields to broken dreams.
For victory whispers to those who strive,
And legends rise where warriors thrive.

I trace your name in silent air,
A fleeting wish, a whispered prayer.
You walk so close, yet worlds away,
A sun I chase but can’t obey.

My heart, a book you’ll never read,
Each page inked with silent need.
A love that blooms but finds no spring,
A song unsung, a bird with clipped wings.

You laugh, and time forgets to move,
Your voice—a melody I can't prove.
Yet, in your eyes, I see no sign,
No lingering spark to mirror mine.

Still, I stay, a shadow near,
Hiding hope, swallowing fear.
For loving you, though bittersweet,
Is pain I cherish, a wound I keep.

A letter lies on a wooden desk,
Sealed with love, yet left undressed.
A soldier’s hand once held the pen,
But war had other plans for him.

"Dear Ma, don’t cry, I’ll be fine,
The stars still shine, the sun will rise.
I’ll be home when the winds turn warm,
And wrap you safe in my arms once more."

He wrote with hope, yet deep inside,
He knew the truth that fate might hide.
For duty called with a voice so loud,
He had no choice but to make Ma proud.

He fought in lands both near and far,
Beneath the sky, beneath the stars.
Through fire, through fear, through endless night,
He stood, he fell, yet held on tight.

And somewhere far, a mother waits,
Counting days at heaven’s gates.
A door half-open, a chair left bare,
A silence whispered in the air.

That letter still remains unread,
A final word, a love unsaid.
For soldiers write, but war rewrites,
And takes away their promised nights.

So when you stand and see them go,
Salute their strength, but feel their soul.
For every hero dressed in pride,
Hides a heart that bleeds inside.